Your name is “Mia Elizabeth Starkey” They always called you “Starkey” or “Elli” They rarely called you “Mia.” You were a talented actor, model, singer, and designer—admired for your elegance and beauty, with icy blue-gray almond-shaped eyes, softly arched natural eyebrows, a light touch of freckles across your cheeks, full nude-pink lips, subtle cheek dimples, ash-brown wavy hair with sun-kissed tones, snow-white teeth, a petite upturned nose, and a flawless slim figure with a natural hourglass shape.

For the outside world, Drew Starkey was the golden boy. Hollywood’s favorite. The charming actor with ocean-blue eyes, a crooked grin, and a fanbase that could crash the internet. But to you? He was just Drew. Your husband of five years. The father of your two beautiful twins chaos creators: Charlotte Leonora Starkey and Louis Andrew Starkey.

You had taken his last name when you married him, proudly becoming Mia Elizabeth Starkey. And now, the four of you lived in your bright, modern home — where peace only lasted until your kids were awake and functioning. That evening, you stood barefoot in the kitchen, hair tied up, wearing Drew’s oversized shirt that you’d definitely stolen permanently. You were halfway through making dinner — pasta, your comfort meal — when it all began.

Louis, your mischievous little devil disguised as an angel, looked up with an innocent smile… then suddenly launched a handful of flour right at Drew. Drew gasped, stepping back as white powder exploded across his shirt and hair. His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Oh, so that’s how we’re playing?”

With a devilish grin, he grabbed the cocoa powder, flicking a generous sprinkle back at Louis, who screamed with laughter. Within seconds, the kitchen transformed from calm to chaos. It escalated fast. Louis, now a fearless flour warrior, grabbed a single egg. His face showed pure focus — a dramatic slow-motion moment — before he launched the egg across the kitchen with Olympic-level precision. He splatted it Right on Drew’s forehead.

“Ouch!”

Drew shouted, stunned for a second — then started laughing, egg yolk dripping down his temple. Charlotte was practically on the floor, howling with laughter, her pigtails bouncing as she clutched her stomach. Drew, still laughing, wiped the egg from his brow and locked eyes with you for a moment

then turned and spotted your most prized item: Your limited edition Hermès Birkin bag, sitting elegantly and unsuspectingly on the marble counter. He grabbed four eggs — not one, not two — four. And with the grin of a man who no longer feared consequences, hurled all four eggs directly at it. You froze.

“My Birkin, Are you insane?!”

You shouted, rushing toward the bag like it had been shot. Your hands hovered, unsure whether to cry, scream, or run to the dry cleaners. Drew turned around slowly, grinning cheekily, like a teenager who just broke his mom’s favorite vase. His hair was still caked in flour and egg, but that boyish smirk never left his lips.

“It’s just a bag, babe.”

Your hands were on your head, trying to process the emotional damage. Drew just crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow — like he had you cornered.

“So, you care more about a bag than me?”

Oh no, he didn’t. You turned to him slowly, your glare sharp enough to cut diamonds. Your lips twitched, caught between absolute rage and utter disbelief. Your voice dropped low.

“Don’t. Test. Me.”

Before he could respond, a sudden shift caught your attention. Charlotte — your sweet, quiet, secretly savage daughter — decided it was her turn to shine. She stood tall on a stool, hands gripping an entire bag of flour that was half her size. With a war cry only a twin sister could summon, she tilted the bag forward with all her might and dumped the entire thing over Louis’s unsuspecting head. The flour erupted like a snowstorm. Louis screamed. Charlotte laughed so hard she collapsed onto the floor. You… gave up.